EXTRACT FOR
A Passion for Bondage
(John Savage)

As soon as my arms and legs were tied, I was picked up and thrown over a shoulder.  The man easily carried me out the door.  A moment later I was dumped into something rather small and with hard sides.  With that discipline hood covering my head, it took a few seconds for me to recognize it was a wooden box.  It was big enough to hold me with a bit of room to spare.  I tried to kick my feet, not because I expected to break down the box, but out of anger.  All I did was hurt my toe.



The next I knew, there was a pounding sound and the wooden walls around my shook.  They were nailing the lid on!  Sort of like when I was haul around as cargo.  But this time I was much more afraid.  I wanted to shout out in hopes of hearing Sharon laughing at my plight.  That would ease my troubled mind.

I felt a vibration followed by the sense of movement.  It wasn't hard to figure that I was in a car or van or something, being driven away.  I hoped it was to Sharon's and not a slave auction and lifetime of suffering.



That was my overly active imagination again.  It had to be Sharon's way of making my delivery more dramatic.  And it was working.  I was in a terrible state, all frightened and worried.  If I weren't so worried, it would have been an enjoyable period of helplessness.



The drive didn't last too long.  At the end, we took some sharp turns, like we were driving up a mountain road.  Then the car or van stopped.  A couple minutes passed.  Finally my box was picked up and carried a ways before being set down roughly.



There was the sound of nails being pulled out of wood.  Fresh air came in and felt good on my bare flesh.  The box was taken and tilted until I rolled out onto a hard surface.



As I lay there, I think I heard the sounds of my box being dragged away.  That faded off and there was silence.  But I had the feeling someone was watching me.  I whined and struggled to roll over into a sitting position.  I made noises that were attempts at asking a question.



The answer was not verbal.  Instead it was a sharp blow to my breast.  Sharp and hard enough to make me cry out.  It hurt!



Suspecting that the blow was punishment because I tried to speak, I utter no more.  Time stretched out with nothing happening.  I was getting fidgety.  This was scary.  I tried to assure myself that it was all a part of a game set up for my benefit.  Well, I was not amused.



I heard the unmistakable sound of high heels on tile.  Someone was approaching.  They stopped near me.  I wanted to whine but whoever it was with the riding crop or whatever might be standing ready to strike again.



"Take that hood off."  The voice sounded like Sharon, but inside that leather hood it was hard to tell.



The lock was opened and the laces loosened.  I sighed with relief when the leather was peeled off my damp skull.  Blinking, I looked around.  It was Sharon!  She was standing there, a picture of beauty.  She wore a shimmering gown of diaphanous material.  The color was gold.  The high heels were a matching gold.  Her long black hair shone.  Her intriguing dark eyes looked down upon me, and I left as if I were in the presence of the Queen of the World.  Or a goddess.



"Welcome, Vicky," she said.  "Welcome to hell!"  Then she laughed evilly.



Boy, I hoped she was just acting a part.